


Tales from the Cantina

by apisa_b



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Dancing, F/M, Force Bond (Star Wars), Force Ghost(s), Gen, Music
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-25
Updated: 2018-10-28
Packaged: 2019-08-07 13:38:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16409468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apisa_b/pseuds/apisa_b
Summary: A collection of one-shot ficlets inspired by tumblr prompts.





	1. Nightly visitors

**Author's Note:**

> Kylo Ren has some unexpected nightly visitors.  
> Based on the prompt: “Oh big deal, you died, get over it, I have been dead for centuries.”

“It doesn’t work!“

Kylo Ren was roused from sleep by a somewhat familiar voice on the other side of the door leading to his chamber, and tried not to panic, for it should not be possible to be hearing this voice here on board of a First Order ship. Or anywhere else, for that matter.

“What doesn’t work?”

“The door. I can’t open the damn door.”

“Why would you want to open the door?”

“How else are we supposed to enter his room?”

Writing utensils clattered on the desk, the lightsaber knocking them aside as it flew into his outstretched hand from where it had been deposited before he went to bed. He gulped and trained his eyes on the door, ready to strike whoever dared to enter. The hissing of the pneumatic door never came, but nonetheless the form of a tall young man with brown and shaggy longish hair, clad like a Jedi strode through the closed door, smirking and looking back towards where he’d come from.

“Oh,” the disembodied voice on the other side of the door groaned in a somewhat defeated tone. “Yeah well, that’s not something I will get used to anytime soon - I’m dead.”

“Oh big deal, you died, get over it, I have been dead for centuries,” the young man said mockingly with an amused expression on his face, before he turned towards Kylo, rolled his eyes and opened his arms, palms facing upwards with a huff. He apparently expected a different reaction from Kylo than the ignition of his lightsaber, for his eyebrows shot up first, and then he sighed exasperatedly.

But what was he to do but to ignite his lightsaber when Luke Skywalker – the same Luke Skywalker whose life essence he felt leaving this plane of his existence after the debacle on Crait – gingerly stepped through the closed door, looking exactly like the Force projection he’d used to delay him in front of the salt mine.

“I know. I was there when you died,” he remarked before he looked at Kylo. “Hello Ben, you better put that down before you hurt yourself. It won’t have any effect on us, you know.”

“But … you’re dead,” Kylo sputtered, taking in the two figures standing before him, noticing the faint blue shimmer around them, and how they seemed to be slightly translucent.

“Yep, see, even he knows you’re dead. How can you forget that,” the young man – Kylo still had no idea who he was – inquired, albeit jokingly.

“I didn’t forget it. It’s just hard to shed lifelong habits. Like opening doors instead of just walking through them.”

“Oh, stop it, will you,” Kylo roared, pointing the still ignited lightsaber at Luke, while looking from Luke to the stranger and back again. “Why are you here?”

“I told you I’d see you around when we last met, didn’t I? Well here I am. And I brought someone I bet you wanted to talk to for some time.”

Kylo closed eyes for a second, taking a couple of deep breaths in a rather futile attempt at calming himself. He managed to shut off his lightsaber, but couldn’t bring himself to put it away. When he opened his eyes again, he looked at his late uncle almost defiantly.

“Well?”

“Ben, meet Anakin Skywalker,” Luke said with a nonchalant hand gesture towards the other Force ghost.

“Ana- … Grandfather,” Kylo choked out, not quite believing his eyes.

Anakin smiled and inclined his head in a graceful nod.

“Why now? For years I’ve craved your guidance, and you simply ignored me. So tell me, why are you here now? Why should I listen to you now?” Spittle flew from Kylo’s lips, his whole body shaking with rage, the hand holding the lightsaber clenched around its hilt.

“You never wanted to talk to me, only to Vader,” Anakin answered, all his previous playfulness erased from his demeanor. “I’ve tried to get through to you, but your focus on Vader made it impossible for me to reach you. Only now, with Luke here am I able to make you hear me.”

“What do you mean? You are Vader!”

“No, you don’t understand. Vader was the darkness that consumed me and tried to eradicate the real me; just like Kylo Ren is a manifestation of the dark that tries to kill Ben Solo. With Vader the darkness nearly succeeded. Padme’s death along with the loss of the unborn life she carried, with only me to blame for it, eradicated all light within me. Or so I thought, until I met Luke. His compassion fanned the last embers of the light within me into a blazing fire again.”

With these words the ghost of Anakin had moved near his grandson, and reached out and cradled his face in his hand.

“Both of us had been groomed and manipulated by the dark side, isolated from friends and families, spoon fed the conviction that those close to us feared our powers. The dark side found our weakest points and used them against us. Don’t let it win, because it will not free you, as it promises, it will only chain you.”

“It makes me powerful though,” Kylo said.

“And what is power without reward? It will never give you the things you truly long for, as the dark side will always deny you the things you crave. And believe me, as I know from personal experience, we are incapable of controlling that power in the long run. Power always ends up controlling us,” Anakin explained with a wistful look in his eyes.

“It’s too late for me, anyway,” Kylo murmured. “I am beyond redemption.”

“I don’t want to start comparing dick size here,” Anakin smirked “but among the three of us I’d say I’m the one who has committed the most heinous crimes, and yet here I am, redeemed in the Force. Of course, I didn’t get to live long enough to actually face the consequences of my crimes. You will, though.”

Anakin looked deploringly in to his grandson’s eyes, still cradling his face in his hand.

“If there is one lesson learned from my son’s last years though, it is how not to deal with guilt. Shutting yourself away on a remote island won’t help easing your conscience.”

“Hey, I’m standing right here!”

“It is debatable whether you are standing or not. You are dead, after all!”

With those words the forms of Luke and Anakin started to fade.

“Wait,” Kylo cried, reaching out towards Anakin.

“Think about what I’ve said,“ Anakin implored. I’m sure we’ll see each other again.”

Luke tipped his index finger towards his brow as a farewell greeting, and then Kylo suddenly was alone again; alone with the thoughts racing through his mind.


	2. Rhythm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finn discovers the power of music.

Rhythm was no stranger to Finn.

From early childhood on he had been conditioned to be moving in sync to rhythm. The First Order, just as any military organization before it, used rhythm for marching drills. The child soldiers destined to become Stormtroopers learned to move along to the steady beat of drums in order to synchronize their strides when moving in formation.

This had always come easy to Finn – or FN-2187, as he had been known for all his life until he decided to defect and met Poe Dameron, who refused to call him by his assigned number, and named him Finn instead. Whenever Finn heard a rhythm, he automatically matched his movements to it without any conscious effort, while some of his comrades had visibly struggled to do so, always glancing at him and trying to mimic him. In fact, this talent of his had earned him his assignment to the company commanded by Captain Phasma, which was not only famed for its deathly precision in battle, but also for perfect appearances at parades.

On Takodana Finn’d heard music other than military marches for the first time in his life, and despite his panicky state of mind at that time, he had been mesmerized, and his body had automatically responded to the soft, hypnotic rhythms, transforming his body language and earning him inviting glances from other patrons at Maze Kanata’s castle.

Now, sitting next to Rose’s unconscious form in the _Falcon’s_ relief bunk, he gradually became aware that someone had started to sing a song. He found it oddly comforting, soothing even. Soon though, the slow, almost wistful melody he first noticed changed into something more defiant, and more voices joined in, someone even started to thump the rhythm to the song on the table, others clapped along. Curiously Finn diverted his attention to the fellow fugitives on board, and watched them, unconsciously tapping his foot to the beat.

As Leia and Rey entered the main cabin, Poe rose and bowed before Leia, extending his arm in a courteous gesture. Although she looked as if she’d been crying mere minutes before, Leia couldn’t help but curl her lips into a smile and accepted the unspoken invitation by placing her hand in Poe’s. Grinning he drew the general into his arms and they started to move to the music together. Others soon followed, not in pairs, but on their own, clapping und swaying to the music.

Finn and Rey, both not familiar with the concept of dancing, shared a bewildered glance, but after a moment Rey just shrugged, and with a wicked gleam in her eyes she shuffled towards Finn and pulled him from Rose’s side out on the makeshift dancefloor, where they did their best to imitate the moves of the other dancers; Finn did so with ease and a smile on his face, Rey with a face scrunched up in concentration.

Just like this, in the span of mere minutes, the mood of the survivors of the battle of Crait had shifted from beaten down to something akin to joyful. That’s something Finn had never experienced in the First Order, where everything was regulated and even music only served the purpose of controlling the strides of soldiers.

“And that is, why they have to be stopped, “Finn thought, feeling the rhythm with his whole body,” for they are subjugating joy, which is a crime against life. This is why they will be stopped, for life itself won’t tolerate this.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was written for #finnappreciationweek at tumblr.


	3. The Supreme Leader's Shirts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rey gets herself some secondhand sleepwear and light is shed on Kylo Ren's mood swings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Reylocalligraphy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/reylocalligraphy/pseuds/reylocalligraphy) gave me the prompt: „Is that my shirt? “

Nobody could ever have accused the First Order of being economical. Everything had to be big and shiny. No, not just big and shiny – bigger and shinier. Repair work or mending didn’t really fit into that philosophy. Something was broken? It was replaced. Something was torn? It was thrown away. There was a reason why the First Order’s waste was sold at a rather high price on the black market on several outer rim planets.

This philosophy was taking a toll on the new Supreme Leader in the most personal of ways. You see, the Supreme Leader hated new shirts. In their new state they all were itchy and scratchy, and only after having been washed a couple of time shirts tended to feel comfortable to his sensitive skin. So Kylo Ren had always made a point of rescuing his shirts from being disposed of, even going so far as to mend tears in them himself. His sewing skills were not bad; he even would go so far as to say that having been forced to learn mending his clothes at the Jedi Academy was one of the few things he was thanking Skywalker for. But of course, in every shirt’s life there inevitably came the point at which no mending skills could prevent it from being replaced.

Had anyone ever thought to do some deep data mining and match the days on which Kylo Ren had to wear a new shirt with the days on which First Order property had been destroyed by his hands, let’s say they would have struck gold.

With the new status of being the Supreme Leader came a lot of new shirts, for it was the unequivocal opinion of all household droids on the new flagship that no shirt with its color faded from its original black to a dull grey, or – god forbid – with signs of having been mended, should grace his skin any longer. In the weeks since he had ascended to his new position, the time maintenance droids had to invest to keep his private quarters, conference rooms or even the bridge in working order has skyrocketed.

~~~~~~~~

The First Order’s philosophy has been rather beneficial to the Resistance on the other hand, as they been lucky at several “First Order Waste” auctions lately. In those lottery-like auctions everyone could bid anonymously on lorries full of waste, without knowing what’s going to be in them. Of course, participating in such an auction was a big gamble, for one could end up with nothing but junk, but also with a lot of desperately needed, barely damaged spare parts for almost everything.

Whenever Poe Dameron and Finn returned with their bounty from the latest auction to their hidden base on Endor, Rose Tico and Rey had their work cut out for them. Rose as the engineer knew exactly what parts they needed to repair the few damaged ships remaining in the Resistance’s possession, and Rey as the scavenger assessed whether the parts were salvageable or not. One of the latest hauls consisted not only of technical items, but also of a lot of old clothing. Initially they had thought they would just use them to wipe away grease, but Rey – ever practical – has taken it up on herself to sort through the fabrics, and closer inspection had brought to light that there were whole First Order uniforms with only minor damage among the rags, which only needed to be washed and slightly mended, and could be immensely useful in the future for potential undercover missions. Some of the items she had put away for herself, such as some immensely soft grey shirts.

Those shirts were much too big for her, as it turned out; she practically swam in them. They reached her legs at mid-thigh, and when she moved the shirt shifted and the neckline tended to expose one shoulder. This made them impractical to use as outer garments even when belted, but for sleepwear they would do just fine, she decided. And that she could easily believe that those shirts had once belonged to HIM, which made her nearly blush at the thought of choosing them as sleepwear, was nobody’s business at all.

~~~~~~~~

He had been in a foul mood all day long, but at the end of the day’s last tedious strategical planning session with General Hux, in which their opinions had clashed colossally, the pure fear in the other man’s eyes and the preemptive movements of Hux’s hands towards his own throat as if to protect that area, nearly made him forget the source his own discomfort – a new shirt had been laid out for him this morning, again – so he only smirked upon leaving the room and stalked towards his private quarters as fast as was acceptable. After all it wouldn’t do to see the Supreme Leader running towards his rooms like a child.

As soon as the door to his rooms shut behind him, he dropped all pretense and started to peel off his outer garments while still walking. He was so focused on this task that he didn’t immediately realize how the ever-constant hum of the ship engines suddenly dulled; only when he approached his bed he noticed Rey standing there, facing away from him, brushing out her long hair. He stopped in his tracks, completely transfixed - he had never seen so much of her skin exposed. She was wearing only a grey shirt far too big for her, but her long toned legs were left uncovered, as were her arms. As his eyes travelled up her body, he must have made some sort of noise – he only hoped it had not been some sort of pathetic moan – because she suddenly spun around, which caused the shirt to shift and the neckline to slide over her left shoulder. Now he couldn’t help but groan. Force, she was beautiful. He suddenly felt lightheaded, his blood apparently rushing south. This was the only explanation for -

“Is that my shirt?”

He really didn’t only need a helmet to hide his easy to read face, but also some sort of device that could prevent him from sticking his foot in his mouth. This was the first time the Force had connected him for weeks, she was practically dishabille, and all he could blurt out was ‘Is this my shirt?’ Smooth Ren, really smooth.

“What?” Rey clearly was bewildered; and who could blame her.

“That thing you’re wearing, it looks like one of the old shirts of mine that went missing some time ago.”

“Are you delusional? Why would I wear your shirts,” she spat, pointing her hairbrush like a weapon in his direction.

He spread his hands in a placating gesture and slowly approached her.

“Why don’ you tell me, sweetheart,” he drawled, letting his eyes roam over her greedily. With his blood bound down south, his brain apparently decided to forgo every lesson in acceptable behavior he’d ever had drilled into him in his youth.

“Are you accusing me of stealing your dirty laundry, or what?”

“If the shoe fits, scavenger - ”

“You are unbelievable, you … you - “

Whatever insults she was hurling at him went completely over his head, as his eyes honed in on an irregularity in the fabric of her shirt on the left sleeve. There were stitches there, very similar to his own craftsmanship, and at a position he clearly remembers mending after one of the Knights had gotten through his defenses in a particularly grueling training session.

She truly was wearing his old shirt. The logistics of how this could have come to pass completely eluded him, but given the fact they were talking to each other face to face despite being lightyears apart from each other through the Force, he wouldn’t question this too much. The thought of her sleeping in one of his shirts really turned him on. It felt as if she was letting him stake his claim on her, if that made any sense at all.

With one big stride he closed the remaining distance between them and swept her into his arms. He leaned down and softly murmured “If you wanted a keepsake of our time together, you only had to ask,” into her ear, before he captured her lips with a kiss. For a few agonizing moments Rey kept still and passive in his arms, but then she started to kiss him back and tangled her hands in his hair. Kylo Ren had never felt bliss like that, and if he would die this moment, he would die a happy man. He started to hum contentedly and pulled back to look at Rey. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes dazed and her lips red and glistening.

In the few moments in which he had smugly contemplated that it were his ministrations which had put her in this state, Rey had regained her composure, taken a step back and soundly slapped him. Thankfully not with the hairbrush, which had slipped out of her hands when he’d pulled her close.

The Force apparently decided it was better to end their time together for now, and the connection closed. Kylo let out a frustrated groan, but then he smirked. She was sleeping in his shirt. She had returned his kiss. And she had slapped him. Things are looking pretty good, he’d say.

He continued divesting himself from his clothes and strode to the fresher. He had some rather pressing matters at hand that needed his immediate attention.

**Author's Note:**

> Come and say hi on my tumblr: [ @apisa-b ](https://apisa-b.tumblr.com/)


End file.
